Faith
by Jax Malcolm
Summary: Dresden, 1945. Crowley attempts to lure Aziraphale into questioning God.


Valentine's Day in Dresden came and went with quite a bang – literally. The irony there stank more than the smell of fire and death, and it continued to linger days after the destruction. War obviously had a one-woman party here, but neither the demon nor the angel sitting on a pile of ruins in the center of the city caught sight of her sleek body or fire-red hair, not that they were actually looking anyway. She was probably long gone and headed for Japan by the time they reached the area. Crowley let his sunglasses slip to the bridge of his nose as he scanned the devastated landscape. His mind tried to determine who would claim this situation as their own. It was clearly man's doing (because only mankind could be masochistic enough to cut off their own metaphorical finger of their species and enjoy it), but Heaven could say it was another step towards justice for the Nazis' mistreatment of the Jews while Hell was likely to say any form of destruction and misery was completely their idea.

"Well," he said as he turned to the angel sitting beside him, "so much for a German vacation."

Aziraphale glared at him. However, Crowley hardly noticed.

"You must wonder," he said, "why it happens."

Aziraphale's glare turned into a glance of curiosity. "Why what happens?"

"How many people do you think died here, Angel?"

As if to take count just by how many buildings were leveled, Aziraphale twisted in his seat and cast his gaze at the wreckage around him. Silence covered blackened, twisted forms of piles that were once proud buildings in a thicker layer than the dust and dirt. Nonetheless, Crowley's point was apparent. A city that once held thousands of lives seemed eerily quiet that sunset. Even if there were soldiers here, they hardly dared to venture into this particular place. Aziraphale had a hunch Crowley had something to do with that.

"A few thousand," Aziraphale replied.

"More than that," Crowley said. "Add seventy thousand to the number you have in your head."

"I see."

"So why…" Crowley lifted his head as he paused, drawing out the silence for emphasis. "…Does He do it?"

Aziraphale turned his head towards the demon.

"Who?" he said.

"You know," Crowley said. "Your side. Especially your leader."

"Do you mean God?"

"Yeah, yeah."

Aziraphale blinked. "Why does God do what?"

Crowley sent a sideways glance towards Aziraphale as if the angel had missed a very obvious point.

"Why does God let this happen?" Crowley asked.

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. "Why wouldn't he?"

"Well, think about it," Crowley said. "Millions of Jews are suffering in those camps Mr. Hitler had designed, but aren't the Jews God's people? We've got almost all of Europe fighting against each other when only a couple hundred years ago, they were all claiming to be children of God. But that's not all, either. God's let his people go and get themselves killed for eons. Remember that whole fiasco back in the Middle Ages?"

"The Black Plague, you mean?"

"Yeah, that's the one. Where was God for that?"

Aziraphale fell silent.

"Or maybe," Crowley said as he put his finger to his lips, "God really doesn't care about what happens to His creation. Maybe there really isn't a great plan, and you're just being dragged along to believe there is while He downs cocktails in that palace of His."

Without a word to counter Crowley's ideas, Aziraphale looked at the ground. He started nudging a large chunk of scorched concrete with the toe of his shoe.

"If that's the case," Crowley continued, "then why bother?"

Aziraphale looked towards Crowley as he tilted his head. "What do you mean?"

"Well," Crowley said, "why not just give up?"

At the thought, Aziraphale chuckled as he looked at the piece of concrete again.

"Oh, my dear," he said, "the plan is ineffable."

"Oh? Then why does God let this sort of thing happen?"

Aziraphale smiled, but his smile revealed only genuine faith (unlike Crowley's, which revealed only white teeth).

"Because," he said, "God knows His creation well."

"That doesn't answer my question."

Aziraphale shrugged. "Actually, I agree. I haven't the faintest idea either, but I suspect it's because He's far busier with another agenda."

"Oh? What would that be?"

Crowley was rewarded with a long glance from the angel next to him.

"Oh," the demon said.

"Anyway," Aziraphale added, "was that an attempt at luring me to fall?"

"We could always use an extra demon."

"Perhaps, but… could you really imagine me in Hell?"

Crowley paused for a long moment as the thought entered his mind and left as quickly as it came. "Oh."

"Exactly," Aziraphale said.

Their conversation lapsed into silence. The pink rays of light that caressed the broken city faded into the purple-gray of the night's edge.

"God does not drink cocktails," Aziraphale said.

Crowley jerked his head towards the angel. He was caught off-guard by the statement.

"What?" he said.

"He doesn't," Aziraphale replied as he stood and motioned for his companion to follow. "He drinks wine. Occasionally scotch."

"How would you know?"

"I haven't the faintest idea about that either."

The sun disappeared under the horizon, and as the stars began to shine over Dresden, the angel and demon took their leave.


End file.
